


Snapshots

by elsewherewolf



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsewherewolf/pseuds/elsewherewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their relationship develops in a series of snapshots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supereviltwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supereviltwin/gifts).



> My first attempt at rpf for The Hobbit.

**Thorin**  
  
Richard is half out of Thorin already, the wig and costume gone but the grime and the blood still there. Incongruous, with the clean blue sweater and the coffee in his hand. He's smiling, head bowed into the punchline, the back of Martin's head interrupting the view of his shoulder.   
  
There's strength in them, maybe even enough to carry the weight he places on himself. Dean wants to offer his help all the same.  
  
When Richard glances past Martin's ear, the smile fades and the lines in his brow deepen further. Dean lowers the camera and meets the gaze for a second before he has to look away.  
  
  
 **Campfire**  
  
Firelight hides in the angles of Richard's face, makes darker circles beneath his eyes. Dean wishes he had his camera with him; not only for the way Richard's fingers, long and articulate, scratch at his beard, but for the others as well. Aidan, impish smile fixed firmly in place as he watches Graham's hands tell most of the story he's listening to. Jimmy, eyes bright and crow's feet deep as he shares a joke with Bill, who looks half as drunk as he probably is.  
  
He memorizes each moment that's happening to them as he looks around the circle, until the looking brings him back to Richard.   
  
Richard, who meets his gaze head on this time, and this time Dean holds it until Richard's the one who turns his eyes away, smile playing on his lips.  
  
  
 **After Midnight**  
  
Richard stands alone, back against the wall, his head lifting only enough to watch Dean's approach and dropping again when he sees the camera.  
  
"Sorry. It's like a third hand sometimes."  
  
"Interesting choice of words." Richard's smiling a quiet, private smile when he looks back up, relaxing because Dean's just standing there, half-turned back towards the house.  
  
"How's that?" Dean asks, fidgeting.  
  
"I mean, you're using it to touch the things you think you can't. Why don't you go back inside?" Richard lifts his chin, and they both can't help but grin at a sudden burst of noise - Jimmy's raucous laughter - though neither of them move.  
  
"I'm alright here. Why don't you?" Dean challenges, taking a step closer, pressing his toes into the dry grass.  
  
"I'm alright here," Richard says, settling his shoulders against the wall too.  
  
  
 **Orcrist**  
  
Richard leans over him, hand on the wall above Dean's head, the other on Orcrist's hilt. "You were staring again," he says, voice a low, smooth rumble that goes straight to the pit of Dean's belly.  
  
"You were looking like..." Dean waves his hand aimlessly, swallows at the narrowing of Richard's eyes. "That. The sword and- and everything."  
  
Richard lifts said sword into the light; Dean's eyes follow the movement, stay fixed on the curved blade. It's beautiful. It's a distraction.  
  
"You could take a picture," Richard says, dipping his head closer still, tone like dark, rich coffee. Dean feels hot and hopeless all at once, and there's nowhere to hide himself right now.  
  
"I want to." Where the hell did that come from? Dean's been perfectly happy with this dance they've been doing around one another, wonders if he's  _trying_  to sabotage things or if it just comes naturally.  
  
Richard backs off, Orcrist lowering again. "Good."  
  
  
  
 **Single Malt**  
  
"I come bearing gifts," Richard says, and Dean soaks up the richness of his voice, is glad that he's a little drunk already because he can blame it on that if Richard asks. A bottle of Glen-something, Richard says. Dean misses it, pushing the door closed as Richard passes him, looking for the best place to sit.   
  
"Gifts? Plural?"  
  
"Greedy bastard. There's the whisky. And there's me."  
  
"I'll get some glasses," Dean says, but he doesn't make it to the cabinet before he's picking up his camera, putting it up like a shield between them. He finds the set of Richard's jaw, the loose shirt collar, the shadow on his throat. "Make yourself comfortable."  
  
"I am."  
  
Dean watches him through the viewfinder, even as his bowtie is loosened, tugged at with one firm hand. Richard's still holding the bottle, and Dean swallows at the dryness in his mouth, doesn't resist when Richard pulls at the camera. He thinks he presses down the shutter, a blurred and too-close shot of the tease of hair amid the disarray of Richard's shirt.  
  
"Enough," Richard mutters, and his fingers spread to hold Dean's jaw, his cheek, to push into his hair.  
  
"Is this a good-"   
  
"Probably not. Too much wine." Richard bows his head, pulls Dean's down too until their foreheads touch. "Why shouldn't I, though?"  
  
Dean shrugs, closes his eyes at the dry press of Richard's lips to his temple. "Too much wine?"  
  
"You're probably right." And like that, the lips, the hand and everything Dean desperately wants - gone.  
  
  
 **Mirror**  
  
Richard's drying his hands, but the movement slows when he sees Dean's reflection in the mirror.   
  
"You look like shit," he says, the corner of his mouth quirking. He fishes in his pocket for his phone, takes a quick picture of their reflections, laughing when Dean gives him the finger. "Don't tell me you drank the whole bottle."  
  
"What I said last night... I was wrong, it was the wrong thing to say. Left a bad taste, the scotch helped."  
  
"Was it?" Richard eyes him, and the look's almost wary. Almost vulnerable.  
  
"You left, didn't you? That... wasn't what I wanted."  
  
Richard turns, leans against the basin. "You weren't ready. I understand, it's-" The next word gets lost in Dean's mouth, in the warmth of his body, flush against Richard, who curls his fingers into the porcelain behind him and groans so loudly that Dean pulls away. "It's fine," he says, his face hot, his knee firmly between Dean's.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I know a great hangover cure," Richard says, soft words as Dean fiddles with a button on his shirt.  
  
Dean swallows, watching his fingers rather than anything else. "Okay."  
  
"Sure?"  
  
The fingers still, and Dean finally looks up at him, grin slightly crooked as he says, "I kissed you, didn't I?"  
  
  
 **Morning**  
  
Dean's fingers itch to reach for his camera, but his hands find Richard's shoulders instead. Broad, freckled, and mantled above him, Dean presses into them and lifts himself to Richard's mouth.   
  
It's a messy kiss, one that ends when Richard growls Dean's name, or  _fuck_ , or a mixture of the two, and Dean holds him in and close, feels every bit of tightness drain out of him, smiles when Richard slumps gently down, slack lips closing on Dean's neck.  
  
"Breathe," Richard murmurs, after a while. Dean isn't sure if he's giving instruction or simply reminding himself. "You can let go..."  
  
"You've done this before," Dean says, and it's almost accusation but he loosens his grip and Richard rolls to the side.   
  
"Morning," is all that Richard says, his voice as rich and warm as the slants of sunlight on his skin.  
  
Dean knows he's sweating like a pig and his belly itches and the bed's a giant mess, but he can't bring himself to care. "I hate you," he grumbles. "How do you look like that right now?"  
  
Richard turns his head on the pillow, then stretches up and over Dean to grab his camera.   
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm where I want to be. And you need to stop being so hard on yourself."   
  
Dean chews at his lip, not looking at the camera.  
  
"Oh, say it," Richard sighs, and Dean looks back in time to see the eye roll, hear the click of the shutter.  
  
"Too easy, but if you insist: I've got you to do that now."  
  
"I don't do this," Richard says. "Not normally. But, like I said, I'm where I want to be."  
  
Dean lifts and turns his hips into Richard's, grinning. "So am I."


End file.
